


where the fools at heart fall in truth apart, stay in lies together

by Orientation



Category: Black Sails
Genre: Canon Compliant, First World War, If you look closely, Multi, it's time travel baby, john silver was a spy everyone, that cliff scene, thats why we know nothing about him, this fic is totally abandoned so i thought i make it a one shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-06
Updated: 2019-05-06
Packaged: 2020-02-27 08:22:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,751
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18735244
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Orientation/pseuds/Orientation
Summary: This wasn't John Silver's first war. In fact, he had lived through the one that was called The Great War for a reason.He had sworn to never become a soldier again. But why was he following Flint so blindly?





	where the fools at heart fall in truth apart, stay in lies together

**Author's Note:**

> So this was originally a fic i really wanted to write out, but it got abandoned around a year ago - i've stopped writing, unfortunately. Might pick it up someday.
> 
> So John silver is from the future. How he got in the past, i never actually got around to that part. Think of outlander he just touched some stones or some shit and never got around to getting back to his own time. Just roll with it, or make up your own story.  
> Thanks for reading <3

It was a night for confessions. John lay curled up on his side, his head resting on his captain's bare chest, listening to the soothing rhythm of his heartbeat. His right arm was slung over Flint's waist, keeping him close. Flint's left-hand occasionally ran through his hair, nails lightly scratching on his scalp. He'd soon figured out that it calmed John and that it made him sleepy. The room of Flint's hut was a quiet sanctuary, effectively blocking out the outside world with its forest filled with dead Redcoats, and maroons and pirates that somehow had formed an alliance in this war against the world. A war that was well on its way. 

One of Flint's fingers got caught in a knot in John's hair and he quietly swore while trying to disentangle his fingers without hurting John in the process. John huffed out a quiet laugh. 

"Don't worry about it, you won't hurt me. It happens to me all the time too," he said, while he reached up to help Flint with his hair. He looked up to Flint's face and saw that his captain's features were drawn in concentration, his eyes zeroed in on the task at hand. 

Flint snorted. "I don't understand how you can live like this," he answered, amusement clear in his tone. 

"I don't understand it either, most of the time." It was spoken quietly, without further thought. Just a remark to a question that wasn't asked. 

Flint's hand stilled in his hair. "What do you mean?" Flint asked cautiously. His eyes found John's and John could see the hardly contained curiosity that burned in those green eyes. He was quick to look away and squeeze them shut. 

"Nothing. It was just a remark." The lie weighed down heavily on him. John could practically feel the disappointment radiating off Flint. The room fell in silence and Flint disentangled his hand from John's curls, and withdrew his hand altogether. The silence was stifling. 

"This isn't my first," John said in a rush. He felt Flint shifting underneath him, but John could not bear to open his eyes. His right hand held onto Flint's waist like a lifeline. 

"Your first what?" 

"War," John gasped out. "This isn't my first war." There, he said it. A truth of little significance but given as a sacrifice. To what, he didn't know. 

"You've fought before? I – I didn't know. Which one?" Flint was curious and John could practically feel his eyes burning with their intensity into the top of his head. He wanted to know so bad. But Flint could never understand. He could never understand what he went through. He could never understand where John Silver came from. He could never understand what kind of horrors John Silver has seen. He would never get to know his demons. And yet, Silver wanted to make him understand. He wanted to _tell him_. He wanted to give him his truths like confessions, like an olive branch. Like a peace-offering, an armistice. 

"The one that never truly ended," he answered and that was all that he could offer. 

"I don't understand," was the quiet response. "Can you make me understand?" _No._

John Silver didn't answer, which in itself was an answer to Flint. And so Flint asked him another question which John Silver could never truly answer. 

"This war – _my war_ \- is it worth it? Is it worth fighting for?" 

_No._

\---- 

 

_This wasn't actually the first war John Silver got caught up in. In fact, the first time he had been eager to fight, to join his brothers in arms to defend England against the evil forces led by the German Empire. The first two years of the War he had been too young – but in 1916 he finally got into training, before he would be sent to France to fight in the trenches. If it weren't for his quick charm and his ability to assess people and situations, he would have walked this path. His superiors had caught on pretty quick on his so-called talents, and he had been whisked away to a special trainings program. By July 1917, John Silver had been made a spy._

__

_War was supposed to be glorious. War was supposed to make your country proud. War was supposed to die for._

__

_But for John Silver, it only meant three things. War erased your identity and left you in the dark. War meant nothing but exposure to unending horrors. War was meaningless and it killed everything and everyone in its path._

__

_After almost eighteen months of death and destruction, the promise of an armistice sounded too good to be true and so John did not believe it until he was send back home. The Great War is over, is what they said. No one would have to die anymore. How very wrong they were._

__

\-- 

After John's confession on this cliffs that he could not bear to reveal his story to Flint, they didn't speak of it again. The trainings went on as usual, around midday on the cliffs, and they would train and Flint would beat John's ass every single time. He made progress, sure, but it wasn't enough. John, used to semi-automatic machineguns and rifles from his own time, felt like a fool with a sword in his hand. His lack of leg didn't help much either. 

They hadn't said a word for a few hours now, other than the occasional comments by Flint to correct him. It was only after Flint bested him yet again by tapping him on the shoulder and John used his whole Spanish vocabulary to swear some colourful insults, that this silence was broken. 

"How many languages do you actually know?" 

It was an innocent question, and Flint looked genuinely amused. 

John smiled. "I know Spanish, French, German, Italian and a little bit of Dutch." 

Flint whistled lowly. "That's impressive." 

John ducked his head and smiled shyly. "No, not really. It was required of me, to be able to communicate with different folks from different countries." He shrugged and made to stand at the ready again, but then Flint spoke. 

"You needed to know this... for before? The other war?" The question was asked haltingly. Almost as if he didn't mean to ask him, but he couldn't stop himself. 

John's smile fell. "Yes. That's exactly why." 

Flint nodded, looking at him with a weird expression. Then he shook it off and raised his sword. "Ready?" 

They continued training as if nothing had happened. 

 

\-- 

_John had met her during one of his meetings with his superiors. He usually spoke them well behind the lines, at the makeshift hospitals. Hospitals were neutral ground and so they didn't need to be afraid to be overheard or attacked by the enemy. It was also a moment of respite for John. He could catch his breath here and his injuries got tended to by the nurses._

_He had been in the middle of his briefing when she had barged into the room, demanding his help by holding a man down, so that she could amputate his leg – the doctor had been busy and she couldn't perform her surgery on him alone – the soldier couldn't keep still. John had followed her out without question._

_The man was dying, she'd told him. She needed to take the leg. She went on explaining to him what it was he needed to do so that she could perform her surgery. The soldier on the table was barely hanging on to consciousness, his whole body trembling. Silver could hear him praying softly._

_"He was struck by a grenade," the nurse explained. Her speech was heavily accented. It was obvious that she came from Southern Europe. "The procedure shouldn't be too hard, considering the fact that the blast took most of his leg already. However, there's still some muscle I have to go through." She grimaced at him._

_John nodded and moved to stand beside her. "Where do I hold him?"_

_She pointed. "He's quite lucky it only took the lower half of his leg. Hold his upper leg and his knee firmly to the table. If we're able to preserve his knee, he might walk again with a prosthesis."_

_Some luck, John thought to himself. He braced himself and nodded. "I'm ready."_

\-- 

The first time Silver fell in bed with Madi, it had felt like a betrayal. 

He loved her dearly, as much as he loved his captain. 

But she wasn't the love of his life, like she had been. She also wasn't his soulmate, the way that Flint was. 

Her name had been Elena, and she was the love of his life. 

She had died five years ago. 

She wouldn't be born for another two hundred. 

\-- 

 

_He followed her home, after the War ended. She came from Barcalona, Catalonia. They lived together for two years. There were plans._

_Plans for a wedding._

_Plans for children and growing old together._

 

_But then the Spanish flu came and took everything away John Silver had ever loved._

 

\--- 

 

"I want to tell you everything," John whispered quietly. 

It was in the middle of the night, and Flint was sleeping. John, however, could not fall asleep. Tomorrow they would disembark for Nassau. 

Tomorrow Flint's war would truly start. The battle for Nassau wasn't some abstract concept any longer. Tomorrow it would become reality, and John wasn't ready. 

He had sworn to never fight in another war again. He had sworn to never be a soldier again. Yet here he was, following another man because he believed in this. He believed in Flint, a hundred percent. 

Flint had given him his past not so long ago, so that John could understand who he is. So that he could understand why this war is a necessity, and John could see it now. Would it not be fair than, for John to give his past to Flint, so that Flint could see why he still hesitates? Why there's still a shadow looming over him, warning him that war is never worth it? 

"You deserve to know everything." 

Flint was breathing deep, not waking. He lay on his back, his face turned towards John. He looked so much younger in his sleep, and John wanted to weep and spill everything. Except he _can't_. Flint would never understand. 

John swallowed. His index finger followed the freckles of Flint's shoulder. A feather-light touch. It would not wake him, yet Silver hoped it would. 

"The problem is, would you ever believe me?"


End file.
